


Resounding

by marzpandamonium



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Aural Kink, I wouldn’t count this as dubious consent but as a prerequisite, M/M, Uhhhhhh All characters unrelated and of age of course, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzpandamonium/pseuds/marzpandamonium
Summary: Who gave Sal any sort of permission to fuck right the hell off to Jersey, and come back after puberty slams into him like a 16-wheeler?Or I guess, everyones favourite rat man Larry jerks off to his friend over innocent conversation. Kinda.





	Resounding

**Author's Note:**

> encourage me, demand more stories, pleas e

The heat is unbearable.

 

It’s a heady, palpable wave twisting in every square inch of his lower extremities, determined to reduce him from the core onwards into ash. 

 

And it’s all Sal’s stupid fucking fault. 

 

No one allotted him any kind of permission to leave for Jersey, all awkward and beautiful and very much teetering the edge of puberty’s grand slam finale. No one said, ‘ Hey Asshole! When you come back, make sure you’ve gained a couple of inches yeah? Don’t forget that particularly raspy tone of yours, lowered a few haunting octaves and capable of saturating the minds of useless mortals! Thanks! ’. 

 

Not a single body lent him any sort indication that he should waltz right back into Addison’s foyer, make all kinds of terribly tender eye contact with a one Larry Johnson, and throw every newly acquired inch into a hug meant for fracturing ribs. 

 

“I missed you so fucking much Lar .” 

 

All at once Larry determines just how absolutely unfair it is that Sal Fisher can croon so sweetly into his ear and have every bit of his will in the palm of his hand. 

 

 

Speaking of which. Some many days later— what he argues is a reasonable amount—, Larry revels in the privacy that darkness allows, hand tucked desperately beneath his cock as he rocks a steady grind into madness. 

 

“Tell me more about Jersey,” He hums, the free hand unsullied clenching something fierce into his walkie talkie. His voice is soft, maybe a little high, but he’s otherwise mastered hiding the raw desire that makes home in his throat in moments alike. (Boy, are there  many. )

 

There never ceases to be that static intermittency of silence, spiking his anxiety unnecessarily and leading him to wonder if he’s slipped in any way. 

 

Sal smothers it in an instant when he radios back. 

 

“I’ll have to take you with me sometime dude. My dad’s family is pretty nice.” Sal holds a lilt of amusement in his tone, because yes, in fact, this is the eighth time Larry’s asked about a gratuitous in-depth of the foreign lands.

 

“The beaches are shit though?” Larry recounts after a hard breath, already knowing the answer. 

 

“Hmm, yeah, nothing like sandy beaches y’know? Lots of rock. A bit woodsy really, but my Aunt has a house out by the water. It’s pretty to look at.”

 

And Larry ruts hard knowing at this point, every little thing Sal likes to talk about— to babble on about. It’s information so selfishly soaked in for his own desires, but hey, better fervently remembered than not at all... Right?

 

“She’s got that little uh,” Larry pauses, pretending to collect his thought, “-Personal hobbit hut thing?”

 

Sal’s laugh really bites sweeter than anything else. 

 

“Yeah, that’s what her husband calls it. It her craft house really, where she runs away to get ‘me time’ and shit.” 

 

Larry’s pace quickens ever-so-slightly, the hot-blooded rush beading sweat at the dip of his spine. His bed threatens to shake with the effort. 

 

“Her husband is really particular I guess. Doesn’t like the scrapbooking glitter and pieces of paper all over the place or something?”

 

Keep going.

 

“I’m pretty sure Maisey just complained about wanting to use the guest bedroom for more space. So, he built her the hobbit hut. It’s nice really; I get the place to myself while Dad hyucks it up in their real house.” 

 

God, _yes_.

 

He’s not sure if he’s said that out loud, but Larry’s nerves are racketeering an orgasm stronger than any previous. Stupid fucking hormones. 

 

Stupid fucking Sal. 

 

It occurs dully that he’s forgetting to respond in due time, but the radio snaps to life again before he can jam his thumb roughly into the abused rubber button. 

 

“You know...” Sal starts thoughtfully, voice clear and deep. 

 

_ What? What does he know?! _

 

There isn’t much genuine competency left to ponder the answer. Larry can feel his cock throbbing, tip burning in the anticipation of release. He’s close— so very, very close; his stomach flops hard as he humps needy into his own fist, and—

 

“You would look so nice, getting your ass destroyed at the edge of the beach.” 

 

 

 

_Woah._

 

 

Larry wants to say its the hardest he’s ever spilled cum over his sheets, but honestly, he can’t recount for what is done in sleep. Or when one blacks out from the sheer force of an orgasm. 

 

The longer he heaves, mouth wet and teeth marks imprinted in the thick of his forearm, the longer he contemplates Sal’s words etching deep into the flesh of memory. 

 

And something just clicks. 

 

He’s on his feet with a quickness, tucking himself back into his sweatpants. The radio lays forgotten on his bed, deathly silent when Larry tears open his door and—

 

“Or you know. In the hobbit hut too. Whatever works for you. “ Sal’s voice rings just as clear and deep as before, echoing from the walkie talkie and the lax form leaning casually in Larry’s doorframe. 

 


End file.
